


Make Sure You Kiss Your Knuckles Before You Punch Me In The Face

by orphan_account



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: M/M, going for that good ol slow burn, it'll get to the micheoff eventually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-03 17:17:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5299799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Yes it is. Ray got sick of me and left. That’s what happened, and you and I both know it’s true. He got so sick of being with me that he left his entire fucking life behind just to get away from me.”<br/>“That’s not true at all, Michael.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Finality of Goodbyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> So this is gonna be almost 100% angst. Huge thanks to micheoffparty on tumblr for encouraging me to write this pain-filled mess. You the best, for reals.

Ray hated goodbyes. They felt too final, too much like bookends to the story he was leaving behind. He hadn’t said goodbye when he ran away from his mother’s house in the city. Hadn’t said goodbye to the world he left behind when he hopped on a bus to Los Santos with nothing to his name but a ratty purple sweatshirt and 3 crumpled dollar bills in his pocket.

He hadn’t said goodbye before their last heist. Oh, that last heist. A bullet had skimmed so close to his neck that it had torn the seam to his hood. That was when Ray knew he had to leave. Had to get out, get away from here.

It was…difficult, for sure. Deciding to leave the crew he’d come to know as a family behind. Geoff was like the dad he’d always wanted, Jack and Ryan were like his annoying older siblings that took way too much time in the bathroom to get ready for school every morning, and Gavin was like the kid brother he’d never asked for but loved anyway.

And then there was Michael. Michael, Michael, Michael. The name was like battery acid in his throat every time he said it after he decided to go, burning his chest from the inside out. Ray loved Michael, he knew that much. Loved him more than anything on this entire fucking planet, but he knew they couldn’t last. In their line of work, love was a death sentence. The guillotine was always over their necks, just waiting for the chance to pounce.

And yet, those quiet nights when Michael would curl into his chest and fall asleep with his arms around him were the only thing that made him stay as long as he did. Those nights when Michael would cry in his sleep from some nightmare and wake up in a cold sweat, and Ray would just hold him while he sobbed into his shoulder were like chains around his ankles, dragging him back to the penthouse every time he almost sped away after a heist, or left on a grocery run and didn’t want to come back.

But eventually chains rust and fall apart, as all things ultimately do.

Michael was asleep in their bed the night Ray decided to go. He’d crept around in the dark, throwing any trace that he’d ever lived there into a duffel bag. He took one last look at the sleeping lad, at the way his hair curled just so over his eyes, and knew that he would never be able to love anyone else. There would never be anyone like Michael.

He turned from the room, shutting the door with a soft click behind him. He picked up his rifle from the coat rack by the elevator, turning it over in his hands. On the underside of it was a foil sticker of a bear, something Michael had put there as a joke, but Ray had grown to love. He peeled it off, crumpling it in his hand and shoving it into his pocket.

The elevator to the garage was short, and the walk to his bike even moreso. The old blue Suzuki sat beside Michael’s hideously chromed “Double O Mog”, seeming so small in comparison. As Ray hopped onto it, rifle slung across his back, duffel hanging to his side, he realized that this was his last chance to turn back.

He could waltz right back into the apartment right now and stay. Crawl back into bed and everything would be fine, he would wake up the next morning like nothing ever happened. There was still time to turn back.

Ray started the bike and backed out of the parking spot. He throttled out of the garage, hitting the empty street and turning east, toward the sun that was just beginning to rise on the horizon. The hum of the engine almost drowned out his thoughts as he weaved in and out of traffic. Almost. There was one thought he couldn’t shake, that kept permeating his mind.

_Goodbye, Michael._

_\---------_

 

“Ray?” Michael mumbled sleepily, putting a hand over his eyes to block out the harsh morning sun shining through the window. He fumbled around on the side table for his glasses, before remembering he still had his contacts in from the night before. The weird thing was, neither Ray’s glasses nor his 3ds were on the table either.

He yawned, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and stretching his arms up. As his vision cleared, he noticed something was ever so slightly off about the room. The closet was open, and half empty, which was saying something, since he and Ray owned a combined total of maybe 12 shirts on a good day. Ray’s shoes were missing too, the checked Vans Michael had bought him for his birthday were nowhere to be seen.

Michael got up and walked out into the living room, catching a glance of the coat rack on his way to the kitchen. It stopped him in his tracks, quite literally.

Ray’s rifle was gone. Ryan’s blue jacket, and his own brown one were still there, but Ray’s bright pink sniper was gone.

He was starting to get worried, a pit forming in his stomach. The elevator dinged once, opening to let Geoff step out into the room. The look on his face when he saw Michael was a mix of pity and grief, and it made Michael want to punch it right off his fucking face.

Because with that look, Michael knew. He knew. If he went down to the garage right now, there would be an empty spot next to the Double O Mog where there used to be a shitty blue import bike. The closet was empty, the coat rack was empty, the garage was empty.

Michael felt empty.

“Geoff, no,” he whispered, his voice breaking.

“Michael, I-“ Geoff tried to reply, before stopping himself, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with the lad in front of him.

“He took all his clothes. All of them. And the ds and the rifle and his stupid fucking shoes,” Michael rambles, feeling the tears well up behind his eyes. “He took his rifle and his bike, and left, didn’t he?”

“Yeah. I had Ryan and Jack comb the city and they found…” he trails off, not wanting to continue.

“What’d they find, Geoff? What’d they fucking find?” Michael responds, not being able to hold back the tears now. Ray was gone, he was fucking gone. Without a fucking trace or anything to remember him by. It was like drowning, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. The water was closing in over his head and he wanted to let it.

“They found absolutely nothing. Nothing at fucking all,” Geoff answers, his voice bitter. “He’s just…gone. Like a fucking ghost.”

That’s the final straw, the thing that causes Michael to break down entirely. There’s no point in being a fucking sad sack about it, no matter how much he wants to just go back to bed and cry into the pillows until he gets all the toxic feelings in his gut out. Ray’s gone. He left, probably because he was sick of being with him. He was the one to drive him away from the only family he’d ever known, from the people who really cared about him. It was all his fault. He was the reason Ray was gone. He wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, pushing past Geoff into the elevator.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m gonna burn this entire fucking city to the ground until there’s nothing left but fucking rubble, and then I’m gonna go be with my parents in hell, or heaven, or wherever they are,” Michael hisses, slamming his hand onto the “close door” button. Geoff puts his hand between the doors before they can close all the way.

“No you fucking aren’t!” He almost yells, as angry as Michael’s ever seen him.

“Why not, Geoff?! Huh? I’ve got nothing! Just let me go,” Michael trails off, his anger dying as suddenly as it came.

“You have us, you fucking idiot!” Geoff fires back. “You have people that love you!”

“Like Ray loved me? Loved me enough to fucking leave with no goodbye? I thought…I thought we had something real.” As he talks, Michael lets Geoff usher him back into the penthouse by the shoulders, sitting him down on the couch. The gent’s hands are as cold as the late fall air outside. He pulls his knees up to his chest, his arms around his shins. “I thought I had something good in the shitstorm that’s been my fucking life. Ray was everything I ever wanted and now he’s gone. He’s fucking gone and I don’t know if he’s ever coming back. And it’s all my fault.”

“It’s not anything you did, Michael,” Geoff says, taking a seat next to the lad.

“Yes it is. Ray got sick of me and left. That’s what happened, and you and I both know it’s true. He got so sick of being with me that he left his entire fucking life behind just to get away from me.”

“That’s not true at all, Michael.” Geoff looks away, and Michael thinks he seems almost guilty, but he shrugs off the thought as just a trick of the light. He doesn’t know about the message Jack found spray painted onto the I-356 overpass just outside Los Santos limits. He doesn’t know about the picture sitting in the memory of Geoff’s phone, the only remainder of it. The overpass is back to being a brilliant green now, but underneath there’s still the scrawled white lettering of Ray’s final message. ‘Goodbye, Michael.’ It would hurt too much for the truth to become real, so Geoff hides it away.

Later, he deletes the picture and swears Jack to secrecy about it.

Ray always hated the finality of goodbyes, so they took away the resolution to his story instead.


	2. Fakes Don't Run

“Michael, please. It’s been three days, you have to get out of bed,” Geoff called out softly from the doorway to the lump under the blankets. He waited for the response that would never come if Michael’s stubborn pride would have anything to do with it. He sighed to himself, venturing farther into the trashed room.

Michael had set it on fire, thrown glasses at the walls, punched holes in the drywall. Honestly the place was a wreck.

Geoff sat down on the edge of the bed, laying a hand on the lad’s shoulder. All that was visible of Michael was the shock of curly hair on the pillow, his face covered by the heavy duvet.

“Dun wanna,” comes the soft, hoarse whisper. Geoff’s eyes widen slightly in surprise. It’s the most Michael’s said in the week since Ray le- since Ray went on vacation.

“We miss you, buddy. Jack’s worried sick about you, Gavin won’t stop asking if you’re okay. Hell, even Ryan’s concerned. We just want you to get better.”

“Dun wanna,” is the reply. The lad shifts away, rolling Geoff’s hand off. The gent sighs, getting back to his feet.

“Looks like we have to do this the hard way,” he says, grabbing the fabric of the quilt and ripping it away before Michael can protest. He puts an arm under the very confused lad’s knees, and another around the middle of his back, picking him up in a bridal carry. Michael wraps his arms around Geoff’s neck to avoid falling backward, giving him a very annoyed frown. In a second, the frown is gone, replaced by the heartbroken expression that had become the usually animated lad’s norm. He laid his head against Geoff’s shoulder as the older man carried him out of his room and into the living room.

He laid him gently onto the couch, so that he could sit upright near the armrest. Michael seemed to curl into himself, knees drawn up to his chest, eyes straight ahead in a dead stare.

Geoff went to the kitchen, throwing together whatever ingredients they still had into a pan and cooking them into something resembling a grilled cheese sandwich and some dinosaur chicken nuggets that were stuffed way back in the freezer. He brings it to Michael, putting the plate beside him on the couch. The lad just looks at it, and Geoff starts to walk back to his room.

Maybe he’ll have another stiff drink and wonder when his life fell apart so much that he lost two of his boys in one week.

He stops when Michael grabs his wrist, turning to look at the lad.

“Stay,” he says, letting go as suddenly as he grabbed on.

Geoff nods, taking a seat opposite him in the leather armchair across from the couch. Michael cautiously picks up the plate, picking at the sandwich before taking a bite. He pauses for a second, then starts to eat in earnest. Geoff can feel just a little bit of the stress lift off his shoulders. Not eating for days at a time wasn’t exactly the healthiest practice, and getting Michael to break the habit was a little step toward victory.

Michael finished his food, putting the plate back beside him. He looked straight into Geoff’s eyes for the first time since, well, the incident.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For what?”

“I’m not stupid, Geoff. I know what’s been happening. Suddenly there’s no scissors in the kitchen or the bathroom, no knives. Jack’s moved her medication. Ryan’s door is always locked, even when he’s not in the room. There’s fucking baby protectors on the sockets.” He looks back at the hall, glancing through the door to his ruined room.

“Thank you,” he says again. “Because I know I would have tried if I could. I would’ve been gone in a second had I had the chance. Because I’m a fucking dick that only cares about himself.”

“That’s not true-“ Geoff starts, but Michael cuts him off.

“It is true. I didn’t…I didn’t stop to think that if I…y’know…then I would be just like Ray. I would be gone, and you all would be left without me.” He looks up again, his eyes filled with the grief of a hundred widowers, and Geoff’s heart fucking drops to the floor.

“I’m not sure I could handle losing two of you,” Geoff almost whispers, and Michael straightens slightly in surprise as he wipes a tear from his eye with the back of his hand. The lad gets up, engulfing the gent in a tight hug, and leaning over the edge of the chair.

“I’m not going anywhere, Geoff. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You have to stick by that, you know.”

“I know. I meant it. As long as you’re here, and Gav’s here, and Ryan, and Jack, then I’m here.” The lad leans into Geoff more, wrapping his arms tighter around his ribs. Geoff can hear him start to quietly sob against his shoulder.

“Why didn’t he stay, Geoff?” Michael whispers between quiet gasps for air. “Why didn’t he stay?”

“I don’t know. I wish I did, but I don’t,” Geoff answers honestly.

“You guys would never leave me, right? You’d never leave the good life we have going for us?”

“Never. We’re Fakes, and Fakes don’t run.”

“Yeah, Jack sure follows that statement to a T,” Michael says, which gives Geoff pause for thought. Was this…was he making a joke? Sure enough, he can hear the lad’s adorable giggle in his ear, for the first time in a long time. The gent hugs him tighter, a relieved smile playing across his face.

“That’s not very nice, Michael. You know she tries her best.”

“Never said she didn’t pull it off,” Michael replies indignantly, his voice tinged with a joking lilt. Geoff laughs even harder, pulling Michael into an even tighter hug, the lad practically in his lap at this point.

“I missed you, Michael. I missed this you, the real you,” Geoff says softly, and Michael giggles again.

“I know, I know. I just…I just figure that…” he starts, having trouble finding the correct words. “I just figure that life’s too short to stay sad.”

“You figure that out now? After three days of sulking?”

“I never claimed I was a smart man, Geoffers.”


	3. Christmas Miracle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably the most christmassy thing I've ever written, and its not even all that christmassy. Anyway, happy holidays, ya'll.

“This was crazy, this was fucking crazy, who authorized this!?” Geoff yells from the driver’s seat of the Bifta, foot on the gas pedal like a brick, and just barely managing to stay ahead of the cops. Michael is in the passenger’s seat, grinning like a madman as he sees the cars in the rearview. The wind is whipping his curls around his face, but he doesn’t even seem to notice.

“You did, Geoff! Now hold onto your hat, ‘cause this is about to get dangerous!” Michael replies with a chuckle, grabbing a backpack from the floor of the car and turning around in his seat.

“Don’t you fucking dare!” Geoff yells back, but it’s too late, Michael’s already climbing to his feet in the passenger seat of the beach cruiser, bracing himself against the rollcage bars to keep from being blown out of the car. And no, that’s not a euphemism. He reaches into the bag, taking out a set of two remote detonated sticky charges.

“I hope you fucks are hungry!” He nearly screams over the wind and sirens, tossing the first charge with all his strength onto the closest police car. He sways slightly as Geoff has to swerve to avoid a slow moving sedan, losing his grip on the other charge. It goes spinning through the air, miraculously landing directly in the middle of the next closet police windshield. "'Cause you're having dynamite for dinner!"

Geoff feels the car shake as the charges detonate, rocking the entire highway. The blast knocks Michael off his feet, and back down into the seat of the Bifta. When the smoke clears, the pair can see all the cars that had been chasing them either crashed or destroyed.

“Not bad for back-up charges, huh?” Michael asks smugly, a cheeky grin plastered on his face. Geoff normally hated that look, but after such a long time of not seeing it, it seemed almost angelic. The way one side of Michael’s mouth was higher than the other, the cute fact that he only had one dimple when he smiled (god, Geoff fucking loved that), just the pure joy on the lad’s face after so long was like Jesus himself had come down from Heaven just to bless this moment.

The older gent smiled back, still trying to concentrate on not crashing the car, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

It’d been almost six months now since Ray’s unceremonious exit from the crew. Six long months of Michael slowly regaining any semblance of happiness, with the others’ help of course. Geoff moreso than all of them, for reasons he was ashamed to admit weren’t entirely platonic.

No way to lie about it, he was completely in love with Michael. Had been for a few years, actually. The second the battered lad had turned up on his doorstep asking for a job he knew that he was something different, something special. And then Ray had come along, turned the world upside down.

Geoff could never forget the way Michael’s eyes lit up the first time he’d met Ray. Sometimes, though he’d never admit this to anyone, he’d have nightmares about that look. Michael would be standing there, that same light in his eyes, just looking right through him. He’d beg and plead for hours in the dream, for the lad to just look at him, please, for the love of god, just look. And then he would, he’d look down, his eye sockets filled with coal instead of the bright diamonds Geoff longed for. And then he’d speak.

“What make you think I could ever love someone like you, Geoff?” Dream Michael would laugh, “What makes you think I would ever choose you over Ray?”

Recently the dreams have been worse, more often, and fucking different. They’re different now, and every time Geoff wakes up from one he wants to cry, to just sob for hours.

“You’re nothing like him. You’ll never be as good as Ray. You’re just a replacement.”

Replacement.

Replacement.

“…replacement, yeah?” Michael says from the passenger seat, shaking Geoff from his thoughts.

“Huh?”

“I said, those charges were pretty good for replacements, right?” Michael gives him a sidelong glance, smile fading. “You okay, Geoffers?”

“Yeah, totally fine. One too many drinks before the heist, maybe,” Geoff lies, realizing he’s almost missed the turnoff to the safehouse. He takes the turn, slowing the car and parking in the house’s dirt lot. The Bifta’s engine makes a squealing sound that really can’t be good before turning over, leaving the two in an uncomfortable silence. Geoff nearly bolts from the car to the safehouse door, trying to be as nonchalant as possible. He hears Michael hurry to keep up with him, car door slamming behind him. He opens the door to the little desert house, tossing the bags of loot onto the table by the door. Michael does the same as Geoff beelines it to his room before he can say anything stupid.

“Geoff?” Michael says. Damn, caught.

“Yeah?” The gent says, turning to talk to the lad. The bags across his shoulders make him look smaller than he really is, shrinking him in comparison to the rest of the house.

“We did good today,” the lad reassures. “We did good. Ray would be proud of us.” Geoff feels his heart tighten up, and he fakes a smile for Michael’s sake.

“Yeah, he’d be so proud. I’m proud of you too, Michael,” Geoff adds before thinking. He immediately regrets it as soon as Michael opens his mouth.

“Daddy’s finally proud of me, huh?”

“Don’t.”

“What? You don’t want me to call you daddy?”

“Michael, please…”

“Please call you daddy? Can do, boss!” The lad laughs, tossing off his bags of loot and completely ignoring the pleading context of Geoff’s words. The gent rolls his eyes, turning back around to hide before this can all blow up in his face. He’s stopped by a hand on his shoulder, turning him around. Before he can react, Michael is pulling him into a hug, nestling against his chest. He puts his arms around the lad, looking over his shoulder through the window.

“I know I say this a lot, but thank you Geoff.”

“Michael-“

“No, I mean it. Thank you so fucking much. I wouldn’t be here without you and the other guys.”

“Michael-“

“You always know what to say and what to do. You’re like a guardian angel.”

“Michael-“

“Geoff, I think I-“

“ _Michael._ ” The gent cuts him off before he can finish the sentence he knew would destroy him. The lad leans away from him, confused. “Michael, it’s _snowing_.”

The lad turns, and sure enough, the delicate flakes of snow falling from the sky are more than enough to draw him over to the window.

“Haven’t seen snow since Jersey…” he mumbles to himself. When he turns back to Geoff, the gent is gone. His door is locked, and he doesn’t answer when Michael knocks.

The only thing he can think is one word, repeated over and over in the back of his mind.

Replacement. Replacement. _Replacement._

_You’ll never be good enough._

_He’s too good for you._

Geoff pours himself a drink after he hears the guest bedroom door click shut, staring out at the snow coating the sandy desert ground outside.

“It’s a fucking Christmas miracle…” he nearly whispers to the empty room.


	4. Malfunction

“C’mon Geoff, I know you’re in there,” Michael says, banging on the door for the fifth time that hour. “Don’t make me start quoting that shitty Disney movie at you.”

Geoff sat across from the door, under the window where the first dregs of light were starting to pour in. He hasn’t slept, hasn’t even tried. No sir, the half-empty bottle of scotch in his hand was enough company for him. He didn’t need to retreat into the dark space in his head on top of that. For a minute after Michael knocks, he considers going to the door, considers confessing everything in a flurry of emotions, but he doesn’t. He just puts the bottle down, straightening himself up a bit before opening the door.

“Yeah, what do you want?” he asks, trying to sound as imposing as possible. It doesn’t work, and he immediately sees Michael’s face fall when he sees him.

“Are you sure you’re alright? Did you even sleep?” Michael asks, the concern very clear in his voice.

“Of course I slept, I’m not dumb,” Geoff lies, pushing past the lad into the hall and to the living room. He looks around the room for his keys, before being surprised not to see them where he’d tossed them the previous night.

“Where’s my keys?” he asks, turning to Michael. Now that he’s taking a closer look, something is just…off…about the lad. Something about the way his eyes can’t seem to stay in one place, or the obvious guilt in his tone when he says “dunno” in response to Geoff’s question. He pauses for a second, before taking a tentative step closer.

“What was it, by the way?” he asks, as if it’s a simple question.

“What?”

“What was it that made you hate me?” he clarifies, and Geoff can feel his heart drop. “I mean, I know it was something. Something has to be wrong with me.”

“No, there’s nothing wrong with you, Michael, you’re great, you’re a great person. I trust you more than anyone else I know,” Geoff says, trying to comfort the obviously upset lad by putting a hand on his shoulder. Michael shrugs him off almost immediately.

“No, there’s something wrong with me. Something that made you and Ray hate me.” There are tears welling up in the lad’s eyes now, and as much as Geoff just wants to wipe them away and tell Michael that everything’s going to be okay, he knows that that won’t help.

“Ray didn’t hate you-“

“Yes he did!” Michael yells, the anger bursting from somewhere deep down like it always does, cutting the gent off midsentence. “He fucking hated me! That’s why he’s gone, Geoff! He hated me so fucking much that he couldn’t stand to be anywhere near me anymore! HE FUCKING LEFT THE CITY!” he screams, his voice going hoarse as the glass in the kitchen cabinets starts to shake slightly. Geoff steps forward, wrapping the lad in the tightest hug he can manage. Michael starts sobbing into his shoulder, the soft gasps of someone who’s given up on trying to make things better.

“How come every time I think I have everything together, every time I think I have my shit settled, me loving someone turns everything into poison? I don’t wanna be poison, Geoff. I don’t want to poison you like I poisoned Ray, but oh god, I love you.” At that phrase, Geoff’s heart feels like it’s on fire, feels like he might drop dead at any moment. And then there’s that voice again, growling from the very back of his mind.

_You’re a replacement, Geoff._

_You can never be as good to him as Ray was._

_Replacement. Replacement. Worthless fucking **replacement**. _

“You didn’t poison Ray. He had to have left for another reason, you didn’t make him leave,” Geoff says, feeling himself pull away from the lad just slightly. No, no, no. This is not happening. This can’t be happening, not now. He just wants Michael to be happy, and he knows that he can’t be happy with him. Who could be happy being with someone like him?

“We have to…we have to go, we have to get back,” he says, pulling himself away from Michael fully, checking the pockets of his suit jacket again, and this time actually finding the keys to the Bifta. He turns away, jaw clenching at the sound of Michael sniffling behind him as he picks up a few bags of cash and hustles out the door. He loads the bags into the back of the car, leaving the trunk open for Michael to put his in, then climbing into the driver’s seat. Michael hops into the passenger’s seat moments later. Geoff avoids looking at his face. He couldn’t handle it. Not now, probably not ever again. Because he just knows that if he sees that one sided smile, or the tear streaks down the lad’s face, he’ll confess everything, he’ll _ruin_ everything. Just like he always does.   

He throws the car in reverse, driving back out of the dirt lot, then tossing it into drive and nearly careening down the street back to the penthouse. He doesn’t even notice the gunshots until it’s too late. Two cops behind them, probably scouts left over from the patrol yesterday, guns out and ready to take them out. A few bullets whizz by, as the patrol cars speed up to keep pace. Michael returns fire with a gun seemingly pulled from nowhere. And then, by some fucking divine intervention, as Geoff pulls the wheel to get them out of harm’s way, one of the cops gets off a lucky shot, hitting the sidewall of the back left tire dead-on, and sending the car into a tailspin.

It spins once, twice, before another volley of shots fire off. Geoff can’t see where they’re coming from, can’t make his brain work fast enough to process all of it at once, all he knows is that as one car careens off the road, so does theirs. It flips once, and onto the sandy hill beside the road, causing Geoff’s airbag to go off and throw him back into his seat. He glances to his right as the car flips again, and sees something that shocks him into action.

Michael’s airbag isn’t going off.

The lad’s head is just jolting around willy nilly as the car flips over and over again down the hill. He’s most likely passed out and concussed already. Geoff punches his own airbag, sheering a hole in it with the sharp spike on the ring Ryan had bought him for Christmas. God bless that psycho and his strange sense of gift-giving ideas.

The airbag deflates under his touch, allowing just enough room for him to reach out and deck the middle of the dash right in front of Michael, causing the bag to spring up, inflating and cracking something in Geoff’s arm. He barely has time to scream before they land at the bottom of the hill, the cross bar of the roll cage hitting something and bowing under the pressure, pressing itself into his arm from the other direction. Everything goes white.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting off the new year right with a good ol' train wreck. Well, car wreck. Close enough.


	5. Remnants

Geoff wakes up to the sweet sounds of someone arguing with someone else over who ate the last half pound of gummy sharks, (because I swear to god Ryan if it was you I’ll disembowel you with my fucking hair clip, just you fucking wait) before someone finally realizes that his eyes are open.

“Can you guys shut the fuck up for two seconds?” he asks, finally starting to feel the pain in his right arm, which has been put in a sling around his neck. “And for the record, I ate the fucking sharks.” His vision starts to focus, letting him know that not only is he back home at the penthouse, but he’s also being taken care of by a very relieved looking Jack, and a Ryan at the doorway that looks like he hasn’t slept in days. Well, that was just his usual routine, but you get the point.

“Oh my god, thank god you’re okay,” Jack says, breathing a sigh of relief. Her normally curly and well-kempt red hair is more a puff of frizz than anything, and she has dark bags under her eyes. “Caleb said you might be out for a couple days, but we were still a little worried when you didn’t wake up for a while.”

“Nah, I’m fine as wine, sweetheart,” Geoff replies, bringing a small smile to Jack’s lips.

Her expression darkens again, then turns into something Geoff’s never seen before as she says, “You’d better go talk to Michael. He’s been worried sick.”

“Can I even walk?”

“You hurt your arm, dumbass, not your feet,” Jack snarks, getting up to go do something that was probably very important. She stops at the door, looking back one last time. “It’s nice to have you back, Geoff,” she says, before disappearing again.

Geoff puts a foot on the floor tentatively, trying to gauge how much pressure he can put on it. Surprisingly, he can put his full weight on both feet with no trouble. Jack wasn’t kidding when she’d said the only part of him that had gotten fucked up was his arm.

The gent takes several slow steps to the door, taking a second to relearn how to walk properly. He makes it to the doorway into the hall before starting to have second thoughts. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. And then the door is pulled open from the other side, giving him no choice in the matter. On the other side of the door is a disheveled looking Gavin, his hair tousled with lack of sleep and self-care.

“Jack said you’d be awake,” he starts, before narrowing his eyes and shoving a finger into Geoff’s chest accusatorily. “And I just want you to know that I know what you did.”

“I didn’t-“Geoff says, starting to defend himself before being cut off by Gavin, this time in a softer tone.

“Thank you. You saved my little Micool. In more ways than one, actually.” And with that, he sort of just, wanders off down the hall. Jesus Christ, this group really falls apart when I’m not here, Geoff thinks to himself.

He takes a couple steps down the hall, getting to the edge of the living room before stopping. Outside the picture window, it’s very obviously late at night, the lights of the city reflecting up through the tinted glass. On the couch, covered in a blanket, is Michael, sleeping soundly. Geoff almost feels bad about waking him.

He sits down on the edge of the couch by the lad’s feet, tapping him lightly on the shoulder with his unbroken arm.

“Five more minutes, ma, dun’ wanna go t’ school…” the still half asleep lad mutters, batting his hand away.

“It’s picture day, Michael, you gotta get dressed,” Geoff replies softly, playing along. Michael hears his voice, and sits up, rubbing his eyes. It only takes one glance to confirm what he’s seeing is real, and he jolts forward, bringing the gent into a tight hug. Geoff can feel a spike of pain in his arm, but says nothing about it, just letting the younger merc hold onto him.

“I’m sorry,” he says after a bit. Michael finally leans away, smiling that one sided smile and looking him right in the eye.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You saved me!” he responds.

“No, I’m not sorry for that. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier that I…that you…that…” Geoff trails off, the words not coming as easily as he wants them to. “I love you, Michael,” he finally manages to spit out. “I’ve loved you since the minute I first met you and every minute since.”

For a second, Michael looks awestruck, almost confused. As if there’s seven hundred different things running through his head at once.

“And I know I’m not a tiny, crackshot sniper, but maybe I can fill that void for you. If I have to be a replacement, at least I can be a good one,” he continues with a bitter laugh.

“You’re not a replacement, Geoff,” Michael says, voice solid and unwavering. “I loved Ray, sure. I won’t lie about that, I…I loved him so much. But you’re not a replacement. I don’t know if you’ll ever feel like that’s true, but it is.”

“It won’t. But, Michael, I don’t want to spend another day not with you, even if that means just being a spare part.” Geoff finally says it, not only out loud, but to the person he’s meant it for all these years. The lad smiles again, and leans forward, smashing their lips together.

It’s what Geoff’s been wanting, been daydreaming about for years, and he melts into it as easily as anything else before the pair breaks apart, Michael drawing him into another, this time more careful, embrace.

“Promise me that you’ll always be here,” Michael all but whispers into his ear, “Please.”

“I promise. I’ll always be here, Michael. Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to "Tex Can't Write An Actually Sad Ending to Save Her Life" Grumps. Anyway, starting the year off with this bittersweet ending thing. Here's to 2016, ya'll.


End file.
